


Grand Theft Skateboard

by charcoal_moon



Series: we will open the book (its pages are blank) [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War Fix-It, Comic Book Science, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Gen, Nebulous Batman Timeline, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Tim Drake Has Issues, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21951967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoal_moon/pseuds/charcoal_moon
Summary: Listen, Tim Drake was having a shitty day before the glowing crack in the sky dumped him into an alternate version of New York, but honestly, the fact that his skateboard got stolen two seconds after the factreallytook the cake.Meanwhile, Peter Parker was busy being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man when he happened to see someone being robbed. Naturally, he stepped up…And the duo promptly became entangled in a mad scientist's world domination scheme. But that's to be expected when you're a teenage vigilante, right?
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tim Drake & Peter Parker
Series: we will open the book (its pages are blank) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073447
Comments: 34
Kudos: 599





	1. prologue: there was a great, big flash

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> This is absolute nonsense, but I hope you all like it!
> 
> EDIT: I saw that GTS was recommended by @batfamficfind, so if you're new here, welcome! I'm Em, and you can find me facedown in the nearest alleyway!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things on Avengers canon: the team talked like actual adults after Civil War, the scuffle for the Soul Stone resulted in Hawkeye dying instead of Black Widow, and Tony survived the snap, but lost an arm.
> 
> On Batman canon: this is shortly after Bruce comes back from his impromptu trip through time. Tim is still traumatized and bitter from everyone he loved dying in quick succession (on top of... literally everything else he went through).
> 
> EDIT: There's two things I forgot to mention! One: Tony reclaimed Stark Tower after the events of Endgame, so the team is split between the compound and the Tower. Two: Doc Ock isn't working for Kingpin.

Underneath the headquarters of Alchemax— one of New York’s leading technological suppliers— lies the result of a scorned scientist’s experiment. Said scientist stands on a glass observation deck, watching her underlings scurry around the body of her pride and joy.

A supercollider.

The scientist’s lips slowly curve into a smirk. Once she reveals this, the name _Olivia Octavius_ will be as revered as those of Curie, Watson, and Crick. 

“Run the final test,” Octavius calls into the intercom. The man closest to the switch nods and flips it.

With a high-pitched whine, the collider powers up. The lights flicker as it draws all available power, and a rainbow-colored beam forms in the center of the room. Octavius grins and presses herself up against the glass, eager to see the machine at work.

Her excitement is abruptly shattered by a yelp. Squinting down at the main room, the woman catches sight of some _idiot_ clinging to the scaffolding surrounding the collider.

“Oh, god,” someone behind her says, “I think that’s Micheals!”

The skinny intern dangles from the bar he’s holding on to, looking for all the world like a worm caught on a fishhook, and Octavius scowls as she watches his teammates scramble to shut the machine off. She’s going to rip that man apart, she really is. 

She opens her mouth to say so, and that’s when everything changes.

Before the collider can power down, a tiny object falls from Micheals’ lanyard and vanishes into the beam. There’s an ear-splitting _boom,_ and the brilliant light darkens to a dingy gray, streaked through with black and a peculiar shade of yellow.

“What the hell did you do?!” Octavius roars, showing one of her coworkers aside and hurrying to a computer terminal. The monitor fizzles and spits out a new report.

Her anger fades as she stares at the screen. Apparently, the thing Micheals had dropped was a keychain with a stuffed bat on it. And somehow, incredibly, that had bridged the gap between their dimension and another… because something else had come to them.

_The collider works._

“Oh, Micheals,” Octavius purrs into the intercom, all thoughts of homicide forgotten. “How would you like a pay raise?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title was sponsored by the Danny Phantom theme song. Spot the references in the chapter titles to come!


	2. one: we're not in smallville anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Timothy Drake-Wayne!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! I hope you like the first official chapter!

The worst part about being a superhero is probably the injuries. Either that, or it’s Damian.

_ But, _ Tim muses as he slips out of the Nest,  _ not everyone is unlucky enough to have one of those. _

Taking a deep breath, the vigilante sets his skateboard on the sidewalk. This is a terrible idea. His ribs are bruised, he’s got a shallow knife wound on his shoulder, and he’s beyond exhausted. But he can’t fall asleep, and the quickest way to tire his insomniac little brain out is to go on a 4:00 AM skateboard tour of the city.

(It worked like a charm when Tim was eight and had just realized that his parents would never come home and chase his nightmares away.)

Tim hops onto the board and kicks off, rushing into the city's welcoming streets. Cool wind encircles his frame. He’s grateful for it, even though Gotham’s breeze smells like smog and desperation.  


Smiling sardonically at the thought, Tim weaves around a pothole. He’s missed this. He hasn’t really had the time to skateboard lately, what with all the deaths and revivals and world-wide hunts for clues—

No. He’s not going to think about that.

So absorbed is Tim in his avoidance that he almost doesn’t see the sky split open in front of him.

Almost. With a curse, he makes a hairpin turn and tries to go back the way he came.  _ Tries _ is the operative word; the rift has its own gravity, and it’s pulling him in.

Tim’s skateboard goes flying, sending him crashing to the sidewalk in a tangled heap. He digs the fingers of his left hand into a crack and reaches for his grappling gun with his right…

But there’s no grappling gun, because Tim’s not in the Red Robin costume. He’s in sweatpants and the ratty Batman T-shirt Steph had bought him as a joke. There’s no way for him to save himself, and no way for him to call for help.

(No phone, no comms, no Kon.)

Tim loses his grip and soars into the rift.

* * *

He lands on his back, jarring both his aching ribs and the stab wound. Wheezing, Tim jumps to his feet, only to sag against a brick wall. His head is spinning, and his ears are ringing like a bomb just exploded in his vicinity.  


Okay. Focus. Regroup. Squeezing his eyes shut, Tim goes over what he knows. The rift has transported him… somewhere. He can tell he’s in an alleyway, but it’s not Gotham. It can’t be, because it  _ was _ nighttime, and the sky here is too bright. It must be midday.

With a hard swallow, the vigilante opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is his skateboard, which is thankfully intact. The assorted decals on it— Nightwing, Superman, Wonder Woman— shine underneath the sunlight. Tim pushes himself off the wall, intending to grab the board, but someone else snatches it off the ground.

Startled, Tim stares at the interloper, a lanky teen who barely gives him the time of day before he bolts.

“What the fu— hey! Get back here!” Tim shrieks, running after the other boy. Predictably, he ignores the vigilante and keeps going.

Ignoring his protesting injuries, Tim pours on the speed. It’s not enough; the thief is  _ fast, _ and Tim’s brain is still a little scrambled from being unceremoniously sucked into that multi-colored vortex.  


The thief rounds a corner, and with only the barest amount of caution, Tim follows.

He arrives just in time to see a teen dressed in red and blue spandex drop into the alley and trip the thief. When he goes sprawling, the other cape— and he must be some kind of hero, because no one dresses like  _ that _ for their day job— plucks the skateboard out of his hands.

“Wow,” he drawls in a modulated voice, “I’ve stopped grand theft auto and grand theft bicycle, but I’ve gotta say, I’ve never interrupted  _ grand theft skateboard! _ This is new!”

The thief tries to escape and promptly finds himself stuck to a dumpster with a strange white adhesive. Tim blinks.

_ Is that… webbing? _

That would go along nicely with the spider symbol smack-dab in the middle of the cape’s chest, something Tim gets an eyeful of when the guy hands over his skateboard.

“Thanks,” he stammers.

“No problem!” The hero chirps. “That’s just what a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man does!”

With that, “Spider-Man” performs a leap so high that Dick would be impressed and crawls  _ up the goddamn wall. _ Upon reaching the edge of the building, he shoots a web like a grappling gun and soars away.

It’s there, standing in the mouth of an alley and watching the retreating back of a hero he’s never seen before, that Timothy Drake-Wayne realizes he’s  _ very _ far from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life really loves to kick Tim when he's down, huh?


	3. two: new kid on the block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Peter Benjamin Parker!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you like Peter's POV!
> 
> Also, I am _super_ forgetful. I meant to tag this, but Spider-Man: Far From Home has also not happened. Ergo, Peter's identity has not been blown.

Approximately twenty minutes after class ends, Peter Parker transforms into Spider-Man.

Well, okay, it’s not _really_ a transformation when you have to put on the indestructible super-suit yourself, but Peter will take his fanciful turns of phrase where he can get them.

“Hello, Peter,” Karen greets, her mechanical voice no less awe-inspiring than it was when he first received this costume. “How are you today?”

“Ready to kick some bad guy butt!” Peter replies. He raises his arm and fires a web, soaring into the open arms of New York.

People cheer and wave as he swings past. Peter waves back, even throwing in a couple of fancy flips for the amusement of some kids. It still surprises him. The warm reception, he means. Before everything with Thanos, before he was pushed into joining the Avengers, Peter had fluctuated between unknown and reviled. Even the stuff with the Vulture hadn’t won him any points outside Queens.

Shaking off the residual shock, Peter says, “See a job for Spider-Man, Karen?”

“There is no activity on police or Avenger channels.”

“Doesn’t mean there isn’t anything going on,” the teen mutters. Landing neatly atop a railing, he closes his eyes and focuses. The minutes tick by, and nothing grabs his attention. Peter slumps, wondering if he should call it quits and go out later tonight.

Then, on the very edge of his enhanced hearing, he catches a cry of,

**“What the fu— hey! Get back here!”**

“And that’s a robbery!” Peter says. He leaps off the railing and speeds toward the scene of the crime.

Below him, he glimpses someone running away with a dark shape tucked underneath their arm. Peter jumps off the roof and lands beside the thief, sticking out a foot to trip them. They hit the ground hard, and Peter cheerfully retrieves the object.

It’s a skateboard.

“Wow!” Peter says, a laugh caught in his throat. “I’ve stopped grand theft auto and grand theft bicycle, but I’ve gotta say, I’ve never interrupted _grand theft skateboard!_ This is new!”

He turns toward the skateboard’s owner— a short, slim boy who had been pretty damn close to catching the criminal himself— and starts to hand it over. But before he can, the thief tries to run away, and Peter can’t have that. He fires a web and glues the man to a dumpster.

“The police are en route to this location,” Karen says, almost as if she’s read Peter’s mind. Beaming, he returns his attention (and the board) to the victim.

“Thanks,” the other boy stutters, clutching his prize to his chest. He’s wearing a shirt with a strange symbol on it: a gold bat in a circle. Peter wants to know if it’s from a show, but his faithful AI derails his train of thought.

“It looks like there’s a high-speed chase on the Brooklyn Bridge. Would you like me to chart the quickest course for that destination?”

Peter nods minutely. To the boy, he says, “No problem! That’s just what a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man does!”

Then he’s off, all thoughts of the bat’s crest forgotten.

* * *

A week passes, and Peter is frustrated to find that the grand theft skateboard and the car chase are the only reasons for Spider-Man to make an appearance. Ned tells him to be grateful that no one is getting hurt, a sentiment that MJ echoes.

And Peter agrees. Of course he does— how could he want people to suffer?

It’s just… even though New Yorkers have started to care about Spider-Man, and even though the Avengers are beginning to take him seriously, he can’t escape the desperate need to prove himself, nor can he ignore the voice that continually tells him to do better. _Be_ better.

_Because when you can do the things that I can do, you have a responsibility to help.  
_

Sighing, Peter drops the motherboard he’s tinkering with. Officially, it’s part of the newest line of Stark laptops. In reality, it’s a gift for Scott, who Peter has been hoping to get to know better. Too bad Ant-Man won’t be receiving his upgraded tech for a while— the young vigilante can’t focus at all.

Outside his lab, dozens of other SI employees chatter about inconsequential things. Spinning a screwdriver between his fingers, Peter picks a random conversation and tunes in.

“—new kid in R&D absolutely _schooled_ Stein. He literally tore his code apart; I’ve never laughed so hard in my life,” a woman is saying. It sounds like Gwen Stacy, the terrifyingly competent scientist Tony had poached from OsCorp.

“Back up: who is this kid?” Her companion replies. “I keep hearing rumors, which is insane, because he only started—”

“Three days ago, yeah. But he suggested some upgrade to Falcon's wings that got him in Stark’s good graces, and everything snowballed from there.”

“Should I be worried about my job?”  
  
“Of course you should,” Stacy snickers, “‘cause that kid is barely older than Parker.”

The conversation ends there, and Peter sits up straight, the screwdriver falling from his hand. A new intern? A _young_ intern, who got into SI not because he was a vigilante, but because he was just that good?

Peter’s gotta meet this guy.

* * *

Unfortunately, when Peter finally does meet the new intern, it’s in the least ceremonious way possible. Namely, he’s helping Hamada calibrate his microbots and is literally upside down on the ceiling when a boy holding a clipboard walks in, saying,

“Wilder broke your firewall in two minutes. He told me to tell you to try harder, and— why is there a whole person on the ceiling?”

Peter wants to quip, “Were you expecting _part of_ a person,” but he’s too busy realizing that the new intern is none other than the boy whose skateboard he had saved.

“I’m just helping him test something,” Peter finally says, flailing at Hamada until the engineer sets him free. “I’m Peter Parker. And you are…?”

The skater boy blinks at him. “Timothy Kane. I’ve heard a lot about you, Parker. Aren’t you Tony Stark’s personal intern?”

“Yes and no,” Peter answers. It’s been two years since he got the ‘Stark Internship’ (seven if you count The Blip, which Peter doesn’t because he was too busy being dust), but he still has no clue what to say when people identify him as Tony’s _personal intern._

It’s both true and untrue, because Peter helps Tony all the time… but he’s so much _more_ than an intern.

“That’s a yes!” Hamada calls, jamming his arm elbow-deep into a bin full of microbots. “And you tell Wilder he can fight me, here and now.”

“I’m done playing messenger. Tell him yourself. I’m up to redesign Widow’s armor,” Kane says. Under his breath, he continues, “Kinda weird that no one here thought of that particular adjustment… whatever.”

Peter tilts his head in confusion. _That was an awkward sentence. Why'd he put so much emphasis on the word_ here?

 _Eh. It’s probably nothing._ With a grin, the hero says, “Show me what you’ve got, Timothy Kane. I wanna see if you live up to the myths.”

“Call me Tim,” Kane replies, smiling. “And I don’t know about any myths, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other scientists mentioned by name are all either Marvel or Disney owned characters.
> 
> Tim's chapter, which will be up on the 28th, will jump backwards in time.


	4. three: holy superhero, batman!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim comes to some realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again! 
> 
> Sorry about the double posting, by the way. There was an issue I had to fix.

Immediately after Spider-Man leaves his sight, Tim whirls around and runs. He doesn't stop until he's safely sequestered in an alcove, five blocks away.

_Okay, Tim. So you've been tossed into an alternate dimension where some hero has managed to pick a weirder theme than "bat." What are you going to do about it?_

Tim doesn't know how to answer that question. This isn't like before, when he was trying to save Bruce from Darkseid. This is about him, and as evidenced by his glaring _lack of spleen,_ Tim really sucks at saving himself.

But he's got to try. First things first: gather more intel.

Tim sets down the skateboard and reaches into his right shoe, where five hundred dollars are neatly folded into a seam. He withdraws a portion of the money and heads into the nearest thrift store. Twenty minutes later, he walks out in a different outfit and skates to an internet cafe.

He inhales a pastry, downs a shot of espresso, and starts his research. The first thing he plugs into DuckDuckGo is "Spider-Man."

"Spider-Man is an Avenger who fought against Thanos during the so-called Infinity War," Tim murmurs, fiddling absentmindedly with his sleeve. "Known associates include Iron Man… wait, who’s that?"

He taps the hyperlink, and to his shock, the search engine pulls up a Wikipedia page for a civilian.

_Anthony Edward Stark is the son of wealthy industrialist Howard Stark, who founded Stark Industries. He is also the Avenger known as Iron Man._

Tim rubs his eyes as if it will change the words on the screen. _Stark didn't bother maintaining a secret identity? What the hell was he thinking? This is how heroes get killed!_

Shivering, Tim whips through files on the rest of the Avengers. They seem to have the same aversion to secrecy as Stark, even those of them who were formerly spies. Spider-Man appears to be the only hero whose name isn’t plastered on the front page of every newspaper.

Despite his distaste for the Avengers’ decisions, Tim has no choice but to connect with them if he wants to get back to his universe. With gritted teeth, he starts constructing a false identity and fast-tracks an internship application through Stark Industries channels.

By the end of the day, Tim is living in a vacant apartment and has adopted the name Timothy Kane. It's not the most original alias, but since neither the Wayne nor the Kent families exist in this world, it'll hold up.

Wrapping his arms around his skateboard (and god, that's so pathetic, but it's all he has left of home), Tim finally falls into an uneasy sleep.

-

He wakes with Kon's name caught in his throat and tear tracks staining his face. Sitting up, Tim angrily swipes at his cheeks. He needs to stop thinking about it. So Bart is gone and his Clone Boy's dead and Cassie still thinks he's crazy. Crying about the past won't help matters.

He uses some of the leftover toiletries in the bathroom to clean himself up and then heads back to the cafe. To his surprise, SI has already called him for an interview.

 _Game face, Drake,_ he tells himself, buying a cheap blazer at Goodwill and throwing it on over a plain white shirt and slightly wrinkled slacks. The fabric scratches the shit out of his skin, but beggars can't be choosers.

Tim walks into SI and is directed to a room occupied by a few other applicants. All of them look like they're on the verge of a meltdown. If this were a real interview, he’d probably be in the same boat. But it isn't, and if they reject him, he'll break into the building and find out what he needs that way.

After three of the others come and go, a woman with fiery red hair comes in. "Kane?" She calls.

Tim stands and gives her a half-wave. "Hello."

"It's nice to meet you, Timothy— may I call you Timothy? I'm Pepper Potts-Stark."

Ah. Stark's wife and CEO. She’s every bit as intimidating as Barbara, so he doesn’t even think of denying her. "Sure. It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Potts-Stark."

She smiles at him and opens a door. Tim walks in, surprised to see her stay outside. _If she isn't conducting the interview, who is?_

"That'd be me," someone drawls from behind him. Tim barely manages to turn his rapid about-face into a jerky jump (i.e., something a _normal person_ would do upon being startled).

Tony Stark himself is sitting in the interview chair. He waggles the fingers of his mechanical arm in a mocking wave.

"What… what are you doing here?" Tim says. Then he immediately wants to punch himself in the face. Who the hell asks their potential boss that? "Not that it's a bad thing! I just…"

"Chill, kiddo. And take a seat, while you're at it," Stark replies. Cautiously, Tim complies.

"FRIDAY, turn off the cameras in here."

«Understood.»

Tim wishes he had his staff. Or some batarangs. Literally _anything_ other than his frayed blazer and battered black Converse. "That's not exactly reassuring, Mr. Stark," he says, keeping his voice steady even as his heart-rate skyrockets.

Stark leans back in his chair. "Well, we're gonna be discussing some illegal stuff, so I figured it would be a good idea to… uh… not have a record of it."

"Illegal?" Tim says blankly.

"Yeah. You're a kid that doesn't exist— and yeah, I'm saying kid, 'cause there's no way in hell you're 21— and you hacked our systems to get your application to the top of the pool. Honestly, if it weren't for FRIDAY, my lovely AI, you would've gotten away with it."

 _Shit. This world has fully functioning AIs?_ Tim thinks. Out loud, he says, "And what are you gonna do about it? You're not gonna turn me in, not if we're having this chat."

"No, you're hired," Stark says, shrugging. "Like I said, it was pretty good work. I just need to know one more thing."

"What?" Tim stammers, still reeling from the… everything.

"Do you have a specialty? Besides falsifying records, anyway."

The answer to this is "making hero gear," of course. Tim bites the inside of his cheek, unsure if he should say that. After half a minute of silence, he says, "I have some suggestions. Do you have a paper?"

Stark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a notepad with a small pen attached to it. "Go wild, kid."

Tim immediately starts sketching out the schematic for his Red Robin wings. It's not information he'd normally share with anyone, but he's a little worried about the Avenger with a similar set-up.

"For Falcon," he says, passing Stark the pad.

The elder hero stares at it.

And keeps staring.

Tim's beginning to think he's miscalculated when Stark glances up and says, "Can you start right now?"

* * *

And so, for the next few days, Tim incorporates SI into his daily routine. He chats with the other interns and scientists, drinks half his weight in imported coffee, works on improving the Avengers' gear, and sneakily scours FRIDAY’s servers for any information on dimensional travel. It's as familiar as it is new, and Tim almost wishes he could stay.

Things here seem… hopeful. And he isn't constantly reminded of everything he's lost. Friends, family, Robin: all those things are far from his mind when he's manipulating some hologram or trash-talking another scientist’s crappy code.

But Tim _can't_ stay. He has responsibilities in his world, and as terrible as Gotham can get, it's still home. He needs to be there, _helping,_ not living it up in an alternate version of New York City.

Beside him, Alex Wilder smashes through a firewall with a whoop, startling Tim from his dark musings.

"Two minutes! Go tell Hamada he can suck it!"

"Sure, but only because I've been staring at these reports for thirty minutes," Tim replies. Shooting a vicious glare at the efforts of his research, he takes the clipboard with him on his way to Hamada's lab.

Tim knocks on the glass once and immediately announces, "Wilder broke your firewall in two minutes. He told me to tell you to—" okay, he's gonna have to edit Alex’s statement— "try harder, and… why is there a whole person on the ceiling?"

Because there is, in fact, a person on the ceiling, held there by a mass of black objects. _Microbots,_ he realizes. _Hamada's personal project._

“I’m just helping him test something,” Ceiling Boy says, waving at Hamada until the engineer recalls the bots. “I’m Peter Parker. And you are…?”

Oh, boy. According to Stacy from Floor B0032, this kid is practically SI royalty. Tim needs to play it cool. “Timothy Kane. I’ve heard a lot about you, Parker. Aren’t you Tony Stark’s personal intern?”

“Yes and no,” Peter answers, somewhat sheepishly.

“That’s a yes!” Hamada confirms. “And you tell Wilder he can fight me, here and now.”

“I’m done playing messenger— tell him yourself. I’m up to redesign Widow’s armor,” Tim says, his eyes flitting over the information on the clipboard once again. To himself, he mutters, “Kinda weird that no one here thought of that particular adjustment… whatever.”

“Show me what you’ve got, Timothy Kane," Peter says. "I wanna see if you live up to the myths.”

“Call me Tim,” the vigilante replies, smiling at the challenge. “And I don’t know about any myths, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

-

The following day, Falcon is scheduled to test his new wings. As the designer, Tim is called to watch, and Stark— unsurprisingly— brings Peter along, meaning Tim has an opportunity to prove himself.

They gather on the rooftop in the early morning. Tim burrows into his lab coat, wishing he had something warmer with him. It’s freezing up here. He glances out at the city to distract himself from the biting cold. Underneath them, millions of people bustle around, each of them rushing to and from a myriad destinations.

Tim finds himself swamped by a sudden wave of homesickness. He’s used to seeing a view like this from the top of Wayne Enterprises or Titans Tower, not… not here.

He _really_ has to stop wasting time and find a way back home.

“Kid!” Stark sing-songs, snapping his fingers in front of Tim’s face. “Are you with us? Bird Boy over there is ready for the show.”

“Yeah. Um, you’re good to go, Falcon.”

Sam Wilson gives Tim a thumbs up and dives off the edge of the Tower. For a moment, he’s hidden from view. Then his wings open with a _snap,_ and the terrifying dive turns into a smooth, upward glide.

Tim beams, pleased at the results of his work. He knew the wings would function, having used the same model before, but Peter's delighted cry and Falcon's obvious happiness are massive boosts to his ego.

"Good job, Kane," Stark says.

"Yeah! You have to tell me how you made them! Come to my personal lab, like, right now!"

Laughing, Tim waves to the winged hero and lets Peter drag him off to his lab. The space is littered with fragments of Iron Man armor and a surprising amount of chemical supplies for a standard engineer.

While Peter chatters about lightweight titanium and thruster capability, Tim stares at a beaker full of viscous, white fluid and remembers a would-be thief webbed to a dumpster.

_No. It can't be._

His gaze shifts to Peter. He's got the same height, same build, and same bubbly demeanor as the spider-themed vigilante.

 _And known associates of Spider-Man include Iron Man. Yeah, because he fucking_ works _with him._

Tim tries not to sigh. Apparently, Peter also sucks at keeping his identity under wraps.

_Oh, well. It doesn't mean I can't have fun with him._

* * *

_I probably had too much fun,_ Tim bemoans. It’s five in the morning, and he’s only now hobbling out of SI. Stark had offered to send a car, but Tim, who’d always hated accepting charity, had opted to take his trusty skateboard back to the borrowed apartment.

He makes it back in short order and promptly starts rummaging through the cabinets for food. With a triumphant grin, he unearths a pack of granola bars.

But before Tim can unwrap his snack, pure pain lances through him. A choked cry escapes his mouth, and he falls to his knees. Horrified, he watches as his hands crack into multi-colored pieces.

Static buzzes in his brain, and his heart goes haywire, pounding hard enough that he’s sure that people on the next floor can hear it. For a minute, Tim genuinely believes he’s dying.

Then the attack ends, leaving him with a hollow space underneath his ribs and the crushing certainty that staying in this world any longer will _kill him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I forgot about the glitching, did you?
> 
> Tim's current Red Robin costume is plus wings and sans cowl. (I personally think the only people who pull off the cowl are Bruce and Cass.)
> 
> EDIT: I know that Kane is the name of Batwoman's branch of the family, but I changed the line (back) to "Wayne and Kent" because it made slightly more sense.


	5. four: red robin (yum)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Peter’s swinging back to Aunt May’s when the city starts shaking. Shocked, he skids to a stop on the side of a skyscraper.

“Karen, what’s going on?”  
  
“It appears to be an earthquake,” the AI replies, worry saturating her artificial voice. “Connecting to FRIDAY now; please stand by.”

Peter doesn’t hear whatever FRIDAY says. He’s too busy throwing himself down to the street and tackling a woman out of the way of a falling gargoyle. The statue smashes to the ground, fracturing into shrapnel that punctures his armor.

“What the _hell,”_ he gasps, shock and pain sinking into him.

The woman he’d saved snaps, “That’s what I’d like to know. Look!”

Peter follows her outstretched arm and gapes when he sees a massive tower materializing in the center of the street. It blooms upward in a burst of neon lights and scratchy black shapes.

Two seconds later, it fades away. Peter only manages to catch sight of the letters WA on its side before it vanishes entirely.

“Peter? PETER!” Someone shouts into his ear.

“Mr. Stark?” He answers, raising a shaky hand to his mask. “Something super weird just happened.”

-

Ten minutes later, all the available Avengers assemble in a meeting room. Peter glances around, cataloguing their allies. Captain America, Falcon, and Black Widow. It’s not much, but they’ve done more with less.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Steve says, fingers tapping out an uneasy melody on his newly repainted shield.

Tony exhales in frustration. “I’m not sure, but FRIDAY says it was a… a dimensional disturbance.”

“You don’t think it’s a repeat of the Thanos situation, do you?” Natasha asks coldly. “We are _not_ equipped to go through that again.”

“Like I said, I don’t know enough. Underoos—” and here Tony jerks his head toward Peter— “and I are gonna go hunting for clues right now. Stay ready. Oh, and call anyone else who might be available.”

“Understood,” the Avengers reply. They file out, talking quietly amongst themselves, and Peter turns to his mentor.

“Mr. Stark, did you see my mask footage? That was crazy!”

“It was. Are you hurt, kiddo?” Tony replies, gently prodding Peter’s injured side with his metallic fingers. Peter hisses.

“Why the heck is your hand so cold?!”  
  
“I was messing around with some liquid nitrogen. Anyway, if you’re all healed up, contact your aunt and tell her you won’t be back home tonight.”

“Okay,” Peter says. He taps out a message to May, telling her to stay safe, and then he follows Tony into the streets.

An hour of swinging and flying through the boroughs yields nothing productive. Frustrated, Peter returns to the place where the gargoyle had appeared. To his shock, the remnants of the shattered statue are still lying in the street.

“I found something, Mr. Stark! Sending coordinates now!”

Tony swoops in and finds Peter cautiously picking up fragments of the gargoyle.

“They feel… heavy,” the young hero says in lieu of a greeting. It doesn’t make sense. Peter can easily lift ten tons— these pieces should be feather-light.

“That’s weird,” Tony says. “You know what’s weirder? FRIDAY’s telling me that the composition of this thing is different than normal concrete. It's got higher percentages of Portland cement, and there are trace elements that she can’t identify.”

“Seriously? What are they similar—” Peter starts to ask, trailing off when he spots something glittering on the asphalt. He shuffles over and picks up… 

A throwing knife shaped like a bat?

“What’s that?” Tony asks. He peers over Peter’s shoulder and scans the item. “It’s a titanium alloy. Is someone trying to copy my suit composition? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’ve got a patent on that.”

“Sue them,” Peter says absentmindedly. “Come on. Let’s go back to the lab and run more tests.”

They return to the Tower and sequester themselves in a lab. Tony starts blaring ACDC, and together, the heroes throw everything they’ve got at the concrete and the strange weapon. The latter item proves freakishly resistant to breakage. Acid, fire, and blades made of other metals don’t so much as scratch the bat.

“What _are_ you?” Peter mutters as he holds the bat-knife up to the light.

“Mr. Stark, Peter, the captain is asking… for you,” a voice says. 

“Tell Steve he can get his star-spangled ass up here, Kane,” Tony snaps.

Peter glances over his shoulder. Tim is standing in the doorway, his eyes firmly fixed on the bat-knife. Surprised, he approaches the other scientist.

“Tim? How’d you get access to this lab?”

“I work on Avengers’ gear. I’m allowed supervised access to this floor and the three above it,” Tim replies. His gaze doesn’t leave the weapon.

Peter narrows his eyes. “Do you know what this thing is?”

Tim opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get out a sound before he, for lack of a better word, _glitches._

He crashes to the ground, light crawling up his shaking limbs and pulling his form apart. In Peter’s hand, the bat-knife fractures into colorful static. Tony leaps back from his table with a yelp, watching the pieces of the gargoyle follow suit.

Before Peter can make a move to help, the attack ends. Tim lets out a pained whine and rests his forehead against the tile.

“What the fuck,” Tony says, hurrying over to the fallen intern. “What was that?!”

“If I had to pick a name for it, I’d say ‘seizure with pizazz.’” 

Peter ignores the quip, his mind flitting through scenes at rapid speed.

_—a shirt with a strange symbol on it: a gold bat in a circle—_

_—Kinda weird that no one_ here _thought of that particular adjustment…—_

_—FRIDAY says it was a… a dimensional disturbance.—_

There’s only one reasonable conclusion.

“You’re from another dimension!” He blurts, flinging out his arm to punctuate his point. The bat-knife flies out of his hand and embeds itself into the wall.

Tim glares at him through his bangs. “And you’re Spider-Man, but you don’t see me shouting it from the rooftops, do you?”

“Where did you hear that?” Tony says, his voice dangerously quiet.

Tim doesn’t answer for a moment. He pushes himself up and into a sitting position, then pulls the bat-knife out of the steel. Peter watches as he twirls the blade between his fingers with an ease borne from years of practice.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” he finally says. “You’re all terrible at keeping your identities secret. You wouldn’t last a minute in my world.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Stop, Mr. Stark,” Peter hisses. He has a feeling that Tim is going to say more, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

The intern sighs. “My real name is Timothy Drake-Wayne, and I’m part of a… I guess you could call it a _family_ of heroes. Technically, I’m not supposed to be telling you any of this, but I can’t find a way back home, and I think I’m running out of time.

“I come from Gotham, New Jersey. The crime rate there is so high that most people call it America’s hell-hole. After suffering a tragedy, my adoptive father, Bruce, vowed to begin a one-man fight against the city’s evil. He got his wish. Sort of. We do save lives, but there’s a whole bunch of us now.”

“I’m guessing you’re all bat-themed heroes?” Peter asks, motioning toward the weapon.

“Well, everything started with Bat _man,_ but all the boys are bird-themed. The girls kept the bat symbol, though.”

“Jesus,” Tony groans. “What kind of fever dream is this?”

Any trace of humor vanishes from Tim’s face. “Listen, Stark, this isn’t a damn dream. It’s my life. My _nightmare_ of a life where my parents are dead and my friends are dead and that little demon gets to steal my _fucking_ title out from underneath my nose because god forbid Dick make a rational decision without Bruce there to hold his hand!”

His harsh, unsteady breathing echoes in the room for a full minute after he finishes yelling.

“Are… are you okay?” Peter asks tentatively.

“No,” Tim says. “But it doesn’t matter. Are you going to help me get home or not?”

“Of course, kid,” sighs Tony. There’s an apology in his eyes. Peter wonders if Tim can see it.

As one, the trio rise and approach the table. Tony pushes the fragments of the gargoyle aside and pulls up a map of the city. FRIDAY pings the Avengers, and while they’re en route to the lab, Peter pokes Tim in the shoulder.

“Hey, what’s your superhero name?”

For a moment, Tim doesn't answer. When he speaks again, it's with a wry smile curving his lips.

"I'm Red Robin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was definitely the Wayne Enterprises building, by the way.
> 
> Not pictured: Peter muttering "Red Robin? Like the restaurant?" to himself.
> 
> [I have this ridiculous headcanon that there are no Red Robin restaurants in the DC universe, and that's why Tim got to use it as his name without A) ridicule and B) lawsuits.]


	6. five: that's all, folks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand finale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to the last full chapter of Grand Theft Skateboard. The epilogue will be posted tomorrow!

Tim anxiously fiddles with the batarang as the Avengers gather before him. They’re all looking at him with suspicion, even Falcon.

 _And I thought we were wingmen singing in thirds,_ he thinks.

“Let me get this straight,” Captain America says. “You’re from another dimension, and if you don’t find a way back home within the next 24 hours, you’re going to disintegrate?”  
  
“Yes,” Tim confirms. “I’ve created a model based on the rate of my cellular decay. If you tell FRIDAY ‘hush, hush,’ she’ll pull it— and everything else I’ve been researching— up for you.”  
  
“You tampered with my AI?” Stark shrieks.

Tim inclines his shoulder in a half-shrug. “You told me on the day of the interview that she could detect my hacking. So I altered her code. I wanted to look into my circumstances without you guys interfering.”

“Why not come to us from the beginning?” Peter queries, ignoring Stark’s outraged spluttering. “I mean, the day I saved your skateboard, you could’ve just… asked.”

“The Bats don’t ask for help. It’s an unspoken rule. If you can’t deal with it yourself, that’s your problem.”

“That’s not true,” Widow disagrees. She’s looking at Tim like his entire life’s story is written on his chest. Immediately, he shutters his expression and goes stock-still.

It doesn’t help, because she continues, “That’s what _you_ tell yourself. Perhaps it’s what you were taught when you were very young. But if you ask for help, it will be given.”

Tim feels raw and exposed, so he deals with it the same way Bruce does; he returns the focus of the conversation to the Mission.

“Sure. Thanks. Anyway, now that everyone’s in the loop, we need to locate the person— or the people— that brought me here.”

“What if it’s a magician?” Captain America asks.

“Then we’re fucked, because Thor and Strange are both off-world, and Maximoff hasn’t resurfaced since the War ended,” Stark says. “I don’t suppose you know magic, Wayne?”  
  
“Nope. I’m not a metahuman, nor am I a demigod. I also haven't been possessed by some ancient spirit,” Tim says. “I gotta admit, though, I don’t think this is magical in nature. I think this is the work of a scientist.”

Falcon furrows his brows. “Why do you say that?”

“I was brought here by a rift. Falling through it felt a bit like traveling via zeta beam, or using a boom tube. Those are both technological marvels in my world, not magical ones.”

“Huh. FRIDAY? Hush, hush,” Stark commands.

«Thirty-two files and a model are now available, Boss.»

“Thirty-two? What were you doing?” Peter exclaims.

Tim snorts and steps closer to the table. He pulls up the files using the holographic display. Pointing at the first one with the batarang, he explains, “I was tracking power spikes in the city. Also, I looked up any available information about interdimensional travel. But a lot of it is junk science or purely theoretical work.”

“FRIDAY, discard all the articles that are speculative or otherwise useless,” Stark orders. Ten of the files vanish, leaving them with five relevant dissertations and a collection of graphs.

“Hold up,” the Captain says. “Look at the name. These are all by the same person.”

Tim blinks and zooms in. Sure enough, all five articles were written by a Dr. Octavius. _Why didn’t I notice that before?!_ He fumes. _I thought I was supposed to be the_ smart _Robin._

“I remember her,” Stark says. “She was a big deal fifteen or so years ago. Worked at the Atomic Research Center.”

“What happened to her?”

“Well, there was a lab accident. Octavius ended up with adamantium tentacles fused to her spine, and nobody heard from her after that.”

“Adamantium?” Tim says warily.

“A virtually indestructible steel alloy. You guys don’t have it?” Peter asks. “Do you have vibranium?”

“What the hell is that?”

Widow hums. “I wonder if the planet itself is different. Have you heard of a country called Sokovia?”  
  
“Uh, do you mean _Markovia?”_

“People!” Stark says. “This is all very fascinating, but we need to focus.”

The others fall silent, watching Stark pinch the bridge of his nose. In that moment, he looks utterly exhausted, and Tim suddenly recalls that this universe (much like his own) is fresh out of a war that cost them everything.

"Right," Tim says, straightening. "We should start looking for her. Can somebody lend me some armor? I didn't exactly have my gear when I was tossed into this world."

"We're pretty similar in size! You can use the stealth suit I just finished making," Peter offers. "Come with me."

Tim follows him to the elevator, which takes them to the uppermost floors of Stark Tower. Peter scurries into his room. For about five minutes, he rummages around in his closet. Then he reemerges, clad in his red and blue eyesore of a costume and carrying a bundle of black fabric.

"Here. Try it on."

Tim ducks into the closet and complies. The shirt and pants fit well enough, but when he tries to put on the mask, he becomes so disoriented that he nearly faceplants into a stack of T-shirts with chemistry puns on them. Tim rips off the mask and exits the closet, saying,

"I can't see or hear anything with that on. How the hell do you…?"

Peter jumps. "Shit! I forgot. Um, I have enhanced senses, so the mask is specifically designed to filter out most lights and sounds. Otherwise, I'd experience sensory overload and go _splat_ while swinging through Queens."

"Right," Tim says, though he doesn't understand at all. Metahumans are so strange. "Well, I need to borrow a lab and make a domino mask, then."

"Sure…" Peter replies. He trails Tim to the nearest available lab and watches him create the mask.

After a few minutes of silence, in which the meta’s eyes don’t waver from Tim, he sighs.

"Did you want to ask something?"

Peter shuffles in place. "I just have so many questions. Like, in your world, do you have something like the Avengers, or is it just your family? Is your technology more advanced? Oh, and do you need weapons, 'cause I can totally get some for you!"

Tim laughs and tries to ignore the ache in his chest. When Peter chatters like that, he sounds a lot like Bart, and Bart is…

Somewhere Tim can't follow.

 _Keep it together, Drake._ "Well, we have an organization called the Justice League. It was founded by Batman and his two closest allies, Superman and Wonder Woman. There are also other groups of heroes, like the Titans. My eldest brother founded them. As for your second question, yes and no. We don't really use AI technology the way you do. Also, like I mentioned before, we have instant travel in the form of zeta beams and boom tubes. Finally, I could use some throwing knives and a bo staff, if you've got them."

"Cool! Tasha should have those. I'll meet you on the roof— that's where everyone's going to be!"

He dashes out of the room, leaving Tim staring at the newly synthesized mask.

-

Before he meets with the other heroes, Tim steals a bike from the garage and rushes to his borrowed apartment. He whirls through it like a tornado, erasing all evidence of his presence. When he's done, the vigilante grabs his skateboard, the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd arrived, and everything he's bought since his arrival. As much as it pains him, he's going to have to toss it all into an incinerator.

 _Leave nothing behind,_ he remembers Dick saying during his training. _You're going to have to be a ghost. Unseen and unheard._

Sighing, Tim returns to the Tower, parks the bike, has FRIDAY direct him to the nearest disposal, and heads to the roof.

"You're late!" Stark shouts from his place near a jet.

"I had some loose ends to tie up," Tim responds. A glitch overtakes him before he can elaborate, and he winds up flat on his back.

When his eyes refocus, he finds Peter anxiously hovering over him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm _thriving,"_ Tim groans. "Do you have the weapons?"

The teen nods and hands him a bandolier of knives, a collapsed staff, and a few small explosives. Tim grins wolfishly at the sight of the bombs.

"That's a little unsettling," Falcon says.

"We've all done the same thing at least once," Widow sniffs. She ushers Tim and Peter into the jet, pressing something into his hand as she does. Tim immediately recognizes the object as a grappling gun.

"Thanks," he stammers, surprised by the thoughtful gesture.

Widow merely smiles and slips into the pilot seat. Stepping up, Stark starts directing her.

"While baby bird over there was dotting his Is, FRIDAY cross-referenced those power spikes with the results of a program I whipped up. We think we've located Octavius' base."

"Where is it?" Peter asks.

"Underneath the headquarters of Alchemax."

Captain America narrows his eyes. "The tech supplier? If they're dirty, that means a whole world of trouble for New York."

"Yeah," Stark mutters, his voice grim. "But I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt. They might not know that Octavius has hijacked their building."

"When have things ever worked out that well for us?" asks Widow .

"If I have to guess, I'd say never," Tim chirps.

"He's got us there," replies Falcon. "Heads up. Alchemax is right below us."

"Right. Falcon, Spider-Man, Iron Man: you three enter through the roof. If there are hostiles on the upper floors, engage. The rest of us will go in through ground level and try to find an entrance to Octavius' base," Captain America orders.

"See you!" Peter tells Tim. He then grabs Stark by the hand and leaps through the open doors of the jet. Falcon follows, his new wings rustling.

Widow lands the jet and taps a few buttons on the dashboard. The entire vehicle fades out of sight.

"Cloaking tech," Tim marvels. "It's way better than the stuff the Batwing has."

"Tony can share his notes. Ready to knock some heads?" Widow asks, rotating her wrists. Tendrils of electricity weave around them— some sort of hidden weapon, no doubt.

Tim nods sharply and settles into Mission Mode. He follows the Captain and Widow into the building. It’s strangely empty. Paranoia (or well-deserved caution, really) sends his eyes to every shadowed corner. He doesn’t know who could be hiding there.

The caution winds up being necessary. A dark shape detaches from the wall and dives at them, startling Captain America. Without a second thought, Tim extends his staff and catches the blow. The force of it sends him skidding backwards a few feet, but he digs in his heels and looks up at his attacker.

It’s a man in a black and purple costume, his face hidden by a cowl. For a minute, Tim is a wayward Robin on a rooftop and Stephanie is hitting him in the face with a brick. Then Widow jumps on the man’s shoulders and promptly tries to garrote him, forcing Tim to back away.

The man tosses Widow aside, and she flips in the air, landing on her feet with all of Catwoman's grace. Captain America steps in, throwing his shield into the man with enough force to knock him into the wall.

"Go," he calls over his shoulder. "I've got this."

Trusting in him, Tim and Widow rush into the nearby elevator. Widow presses the button for the lowest marked floor, and Tim tightens his grip on his staff.

"Who was that?"

"He's called the Prowler," the assassin replies. She's not looking at him, instead searching for something near the emergency phone. "A new player. He's tangled with Spider-Man once or twice, but he mostly sticks to theft. I don't know what he's doing here."

Her statement ends with a soft noise of triumph. She slams her fist into the wall and a hidden panel pops open. Beneath it is a button for Floor -1.

Tim raises an eyebrow. "That's unoriginal. And it doesn't bode well for the company."

"No," Widow sighs. "No, it doesn't. Get ready."

The doors open and close. The elevator starts descending again, and as it does, the air becomes charged with static. A minor glitch wracks Tim's body.

_We're close._

They emerge into a veritable hellscape. Stark, Falcon, and Peter are all engaged in different fights. Widow immediately rushes in to prevent Falcon from being choked to death by a man with pale gray skin. Cautiously, Tim creeps around the war zone and approaches the observation window on the far side of the room.

Underneath him lies a massive machine. Running between its two ends is a glowing, neon beam of energy. Without a doubt, that thing is the reason he's here.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Someone behind him says.

Tim spins around and flings the batarang. The speaker, a woman with wild hair and a manic look in her eyes, somehow snatches the blade out of the air.

"You're the bat," she says, turning the weapon over in her hands. "I've been looking for you."

Tim feels cold. How does this woman know who he is? Unless…

"Dr. Octavius," he says. "You brought me to this world."

"Accidentally," she interjects. "This was all a mistake, you know. Some fool dropped a keychain, and here you are. But that's irrelevant. Tell me, are your cells dying? Does it hurt?"

Tim keeps his mouth shut, but Octavius gets her answer when a glitch strikes, scattering his atoms into streaks of red, yellow, and green. _Robin colors,_ he thinks deliriously when he solidifies.

"You know," Octavius muses. "I'd really like to dissect you."

Instincts borne from years of combat send Tim diving to the side, just in time to avoid the strike of a whip-like projectile. _An adamantium tentacle,_ he recalls. The momentum of the attack launches the tentacle right through the window, and the vigilante is immediately glad he'd managed to dodge.

Tim rolls to his feet and brandishes his staff. He uses it to deflect two violent swipes of the tentacles, successfully avoiding the third by a hair's breadth.

"Hold still!" Octavius snarls.

"Uh, no!" Tim retorts. He tosses a flash-bang into her face, unsympathetic to her howl of pain.

She recovers abnormally quickly. With blood streaming from her ears, she dives at Tim, who curses and handsprings backwards in an attempt to put distance between them.

It turns out to be unnecessary. Peter wins his fight and promptly throws the unconscious man— a meta with a scorpion tail— directly into Octavius. She goes down hard, and Peter rushes over to Tim.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," the vigilante pants, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. "You?"

"I think my organs are bruised, but I've had worse," Peter answers brightly.

"Think of it this way: at least you still have a spleen!"

"How did you lose… you know what, never mind. Tony is calibrating the collider with the only working computer terminal. When I say go, you jump!"

Tim nods, only to get tackled by Peter. The teens yelp as a bladed tentacle plunges into the floor where they'd been standing.

"You're not going anywhere!" Octavius growls.

"Watch me!" Tim snaps. He rips two knives out of the bandolier and hurls them at her. She deflects one, but the other digs into her shoulder.

Predictably, Octavius is not happy about that. She curls a tentacle around a metal desk and returns fire. Peter smashes through it with a roundhouse kick, but he's too slow to avoid her vicious follow-up punch.

"Shit," Tim hisses. He tosses another explosive at the scientist, blowing her across the room.

"Red Robin!" Stark shouts. Tim faces him, knocking a monitor aside with his staff.

"What?"

"The collider is ready! You need to go!"

Tim glances at Peter, who is trying to web Octavius up and failing. "But what about him?!"

"Don't worry about me! I get back up no matter what happens, okay?" Peter calls.

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. Regret and gratitude burn hot in his chest. He's going to miss this world.

"Thank you," he screams over the sounds of combat. "Thank you for everything!"

Then Tim runs to the window and uses the staff as a means of launching himself towards the collider. He turns the motion into a somersault (only a double; he's no Flying Grayson) and soars into the monochrome beam.

* * *

He exits the other universe the same way he entered it.

By smashing into asphalt.

"Couldn't Stark have aimed for a goddamn bed?" Tim groans, rising to his feet. He opens his eyes and is greeted by the sight of Gotham at twilight. For a moment, he stands and stares, awestruck.

The Batsignal sets the clouds alight, and a sob bursts free from Tim's throat.

He's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "wingmen singing in thirds" quip is from Holy Musical, B@man!
> 
> Tim is home, sans skateboard but thankfully in one piece! Rejoice!
> 
> EDIT: The line "Maximoff hasn't resurfaced since the War ended" is infinitely funnier now that WandaVision is airing.


	7. epilogue: itsy bitsy spider(-men)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end of the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap, folks! Thanks for going on this journey with me!
> 
> PS: Happy New Year!

In Peter’s defense, he’s a scientist.

That’s what he tells himself as he disables FRIDAY and sneaks into the lab containing the majority of the supercollider, which Tony had confiscated after Octavius had been dragged away in cuffs. He’s doing this out of scientific curiosity, ‘cause, y’know, now that Tim isn’t in danger of bursting into a colorful firework of atoms, Peter has the time to admire the craftsmanship of the device.

 _And what beautiful craftsmanship it is,_ he thinks, crawling up and over the massive structure. The amount of effort put into the collider’s creation is evident in every neat row of screws, in the unyielding strength of the metal, in the hum of barely contained energy…

Wait. In the _what?_

Suddenly terrified, Peter whips around. His eyes land on a switch that he must’ve tripped with his foot, and that’s the last thing he sees before the collider erupts with light.

The young hero tumbles into the vortex, and the familiar sight of a Stark-made lab melts into a tangled mess of webs and navy hues. Peter reaches out and catches one of the white strands, trying to keep his uncontrolled flight as steady as he can.

The vortex trembles and spits him out. His face promptly meets the damp asphalt of a New York alley (and wow, he wishes he wasn’t so well-acquainted with that feeling).

With a pained groan, Peter peels himself off the ground. His body aches like he’d gotten another building dropped on him, and his ears are ringing something _fierce._ It’s a combination of the bumpy ride and…

His Spidey-sense?

Peter lifts his head. Before him stands a boy in a jet-black costume, a red spider symbol shining proudly on his chest.

“Hey,” the other Spider-Man says, unfazed by Peter's shock. “You're like me.”

* * *

Elsewhere, Tim Drake-Wayne runs across the rooftops, playing tag with his siblings.

For a scant five minutes, he has the lead. Then Batgirl dives across a gap and pins him to the concrete. Tim wheezes, having gotten the wind knocked out of him.

"Caught you," Cassandra Cain-Wayne laughs.

"Congrats," coughs Tim. Cass rolls off him, and Tim remains where he is, his eyes locked on the stars.

In the space between breaths, a spider crawls onto his hand. Amused, he lifts his arm and smiles at the arachnid.

"Not scared?" His sister asks.

"Nah," Tim replies. "Spiders are friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate your readership! I will post more DC nonsense soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Drop a comment!


End file.
